Rude Awakening
by kokoro no miko
Summary: Miroku wakes up with a massive headache and a companion. Exactly what happened last night, anyway?


**Rude Awakening**

The young man awoke slowly, savoring the unfamiliar sensation of a warm body next to his own. Not wishing to disturb his companion, he brushed lightly at the long hair that lay across his shoulder and face, tickling his nose. Moving closer to the source of the dreams he had been enjoying while he slept, he wondered briefly how he had come to be in this most wondrous situation--his memories of the previous evening were fragmentary at best.

It had promised to be a singularly boring night. The ladies in the group had gone with the village healer to an isolated farm on the other side of the village to assist her in a difficult delivery. They had even taken the fox youkai kit who traveled with them along, on the theory that he could help keep the family's other children amused while the women attended to their mother. That left him with no company aside from a surly, rude, and self-righteous hanyou.

Still, as a follower of Buddha he was determined to find the best in the situation. Even so, the night had gone badly, consisting of little more than monosyllabic responses to his attempts at conversation, until he discovered the cache of sake the old miko had hidden beneath the porch surrounding her home.

Even this overture had been met with resistance. Because of his inhumanly acute senses, the hanyou had no desire to partake. In his estimation, the stuff smelled like the inside of a chamber pot. It was a simple matter to get him to take the first drink, though--the hanyou was so intent on the ramen that he failed to notice the liberal portion of sake that the monk had placed in it. His experiences with Mushin, the alcoholic monk who had raised him after his father's death, had taught him early on that the first drink tended to reduce one's ability to resist taking a second.

By the time they reached the end of the first bottle, they were enjoying a pleasant conversation. By the time they were halfway through the second, they were each waxing poetic about the women in their respective lives. By the time they reached the end of the third bottle….

Miroku rubbed a hand across his forehead, wishing that he could remember exactly how he came to be sleeping with Sango. He never would have expected her to be one to take pity on an inebriated man. Nor would he expect that she would finally give in to his need for an heir. Still, he didn't suppose that it mattered--the only thing he cared about was that she was, after all, there.

Opening one eye, he was eager for a look at the angel who had finally consented to be his. As he still had no desire to disturb her lest she have regrets about what they had done, he looked in her direction without moving his head. Taking in a pale shoulder, he rolled his eye to see the mass of long, snowy hair that had fallen across his face during the night.

'White? But Sango's hair is dark--none of the women in the village have hair like this….'

In truth, he knew of only one being with hair like that. His other eye flew open despite the stabbing pain as the light pierced his abused brain. Looking in horror at the naked back of the hanyou who was sharing his bed, he wracked his mind, trying to think of some way to save his hide. Although the young hanyou was often disagreeable and prone to violence, he was most emphatically male, and his views on anything even remotely involving sexuality were conservative in the extreme.

Carefully raising the edge of the blanket so that he could make his escape, he realized that he was equally unclothed. As he tried to ease himself away from the still figure next to him, he cringed at the low groan and paled visibly--considering the vast amount of sake they had ingested the night before, there was a very good chance that the hanyou would awaken in the throes of a massive hangover. 'Merciful Buddha--' he prayed, freezing in position at the sight of a clawed hand reaching up to grab at a head that felt as though it had been sheared off at eye level.

The hanyou jerked to an upright position, clutching his aching head with both hands. As he sat up, the blanket that had been covering the two fell away to reveal two lean, muscular, very naked chests. 'I'm gonna kill that bastard Miroku,' he thought, regretting every second of the time they had spent drinking that disgusting stuff the previous night.

'What the hell?' he thought, feeling the blanket move across his skin. Looking down, all he could see was an expanse of flawless skin vanishing beneath the cover of the blanket. Shifting his position experimentally, he suddenly realized that he was equally naked below the waist. He blushed furiously, wondering how he had managed to end up undressed--maybe that damn monk regretted getting him into this situation in the first place.

He inhaled carefully, well aware that any strong odor at this point would be enough to trigger the nausea he could feel coming on. Unfortunately, even his finely-tuned nose could pick up nothing through the alcoholic haze that still drifted through his brain.

A slight movement at the very edge of his vision gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Unlike many humans, he had no interest in casual sex. It was his nature to mate for life, and he had already chosen the only mate he wanted. How the hell had he ended up naked in bed with some woman he didn't know--or did he?

Was it possible? Could she somehow have come to him in his intoxicated state? Or--horror of horrors--had he forced her? Turning his head a fraction of an inch, he caught sight of a flash of pale skin and ebony hair before the pain of the movement tore through his skull.

Although that brief flash of undeniably blurry vision had convinced him that the woman he had been hungering for all this time had actually chosen to be with him, he had been able to see nothing other than the top of her head and a portion of one shoulder. Since she was also sitting up, she couldn't help but notice that he was awake as well. 'Maybe,' he thought, 'She's embarrassed about what happened. Or maybe she even regrets it.'

Deciding that it would probably be best to leave her alone to decide how she wanted to approach the matter of what had obviously happened, he glanced around the room, looking for his clothing. He was not too pleased to find that they had been thrown carelessly on the floor a few feet beyond his reach. If he was going to dress, he would have to emerge from the concealment of the blanket. 'This,' he decided, 'Is not good.'

The monk was now close to a panic. He had seen the hanyou at what he strongly suspected was his worst, when he completely lost control. Fortunately, he was not a mean drunk --he was certain that he would not have survived this long had that been the case. However, the most mild-mannered inoffensive person who ever lived would be surly at best with the kind of hangover he expected after the amount of sake they had each consumed the previous night. In Inuyasha's case--he didn't want to think about it.

Looking around, Miroku finally managed to make his eyes focus long enough to spot the robes he had apparently left in a heap near the wall on the far side of the room. Considering the fact that his companion was still sitting motionless, clutching his head, it seemed as though he just might have a chance at retrieving his clothing. 'Why,' he wondered, 'Hasn't he realized that I'm here yet?'

'Well,' he decided, 'I can't stay here for the rest of my life.' His muscles tensed as he prepared to propel himself from the blanket in the direction of his clothing.

The hanyou was starting to panic. From the way her muscles were moving, she was going to leave if he didn't say something right away. "Wait--" he said, appalled by the sound of his voice. Rather than the strong sound he had expected, what had emerged was a harsh croak, due to either the massive amount of alcohol he had ingested the night before or his stress at the moment.

Realizing that he had been caught, Miroku stopped moving instantly. All he could do now was wait for the swipe of claws that would end his life. He could feel the other turning to face him.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"What the hell is this?" the hanyou roared, heedless of the pounding in his head.

"Why are you asking me?" Miroku was relieved that he was still alive, but that only meant that they would have to talk about whatever might have happened. Thinking as hard as he could, he said, "First of all, don't panic."

"Panic? Why the hell would I panic?"

The monk clutched the blanket tighter around his middle. "What I mean to say is, stop and think for a minute. This can't possibly be what it looks like."

"And what, exactly, does it look like?" The hanyou's voice had gone soft and dangerous--not a good sign.

"Just think for a minute," Miroku begged. "Listen to your body--it'll tell you what happened last night." At the hanyou's confused expression, he continued, "Are you sore anywhere--aside from your head, I mean? Are you feeling…sticky?"

"No…."

The monk's prospects of living long enough to be absorbed into his kazaana seemed to be improving, at least a little. "Good. Neither am I. It seems to me that this is all perfectly innocent. We simply had too much to drink and went to sleep." He did not add that he had absolutely no idea how they had managed to get into their present state of undress.

The tension seemed to leave the hanyou's muscles instantly. "Good. Now, get the hell out of here and let me go back to sleep," he growled.

"I don't think so." At the utterly venomous look he received, he continued, "You see, I'm here under the blanket--with you--but my clothes are way over there. I hardly think I want to be dashing across the room wearing nothing but my skin."

"Well, monk," the hanyou said, baring his fangs, "It's either that, or stay here and shut the hell up--my head is killing me!" With that, he curled back up, pulling a corner of the blanket up to screen out the worst of the painful morning light.

'Good,' the monk thought. 'Once he goes back to sleep I'll be able to sneak out and get my clothes.' He sat down to wait for just that event.

A short distance away, two women were bathing in a river. The older of the pair glanced at her counterpart. "Can you believe those two?"

The seventeen-year-old shook her head. "What do you suppose they were thinking?"

Sango ducked her head under the water, rinsing out the shampoo her friend had brought along. "I don't think they were. But I'm willing to bet I know which one started the whole thing."

"I don't doubt it for a minute. I didn't think we'd ever get them put to bed."

"Well," Sango sighed, "At least yours didn't try to grab you every time you got anywhere within range."

Somehow, Kagome wasn't entirely convinced that that was a good thing. "True enough --" she said. "Did we really have to take off all their clothes?"

The older woman nodded briskly. "Yeah, we did. There was a guy in my old village who drank a lot. Sometimes in the middle of the night he would get up to--you know--and he would get tangled up in his clothes. He almost broke his neck falling down some stairs that way. Besides, she added, eyes sparkling, "You wanted to see what was under there as much as I did."

Blushing furiously, she nodded slowly. "Also true--" In truth, she had not been at all displeased by what had been hidden under the loose-fitting haori and hakama. "Still--"

"Now what?"

"Did we have to put them to bed together? Inuyasha's going to have a heart attack when he wakes up."

"Where else should we have put them? In the condition they were in, they could have done anything in their sleep, from getting sick all over us to getting a little too friendly, if you see what I mean. This way, they could sleep it off, and we could get a few hours of rest ourselves. Besides," she added, "Didn't you notice how they smelled?"

Kagome smiled. Her hanyou's sensitive nose wouldn't much like the way he smelled once he got up. "They were pretty ripe, weren't they? They laughed over the image of the image of the hanyou passed out on the ground from the stench. "Do you suppose they'll remember anything?"

Sango shook her head. "Probably not. They drank--what, three or four bottles between them? I think they'll be lucky if they can remember their own names by the time they finally get up."

"So," Kagome said, grinning broadly, "Do we tell them that we put them to bed last night, or do we let them figure it out for themselves?"

The question hung in the air for a few minutes, then the two looked at each other. "Nah!"


End file.
